


Remission

by Elle_Smith



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 12:10:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6153316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elle_Smith/pseuds/Elle_Smith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As he lies dying alone in a dark hospital room, Heero receives a most unexpected visitor, and she came with a mission. Read the eBook <a href="https://www.dropbox.com/s/b9h0fz51wm1jcus/Gundam%20Wing%20-%20Remission%20-%20Elle%20Smith%20-%20eBook%205x8.pdf?dl=0">here</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remission

**Author's Note:**

> So, Heero and Dorothy. Yeah. Not many of those going around (or none at all?). And why is that? I think that the scene when Dorothy challenged Heero to a duel in episode 31 was the sexiest and most passionate scene in the whole anime. Talk about sexual insinuation!
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/130931047@N06/24837898513/in/dateposted-public/)  
> 
> 
> Dorothy was definitely flirting in this scene, and Heero was totally onto her, giving her this dirty look at the end (that sexy little fucker!). She was beautiful. She was sexy. She was WOMAN! Dorothy T. Catalonia totally rocked that scene (and the show in general).
> 
> There's much to be said in favor of Dorothy's intriguing character, but I won't go into it now. I do recommend you read [this meta-essay](), though, written by the brilliant [cinderellaincombatboots](http://cinderellaincombatboots.tumblr.com/).
> 
> And while most tend to pair her up with Quatre, I think Dorothy's character better matches Heero's character. I find it hard to see her with Quatre (please feel free to convince me otherwise...), but shipping her with Heero, in my humble opinion, could make for an explosive relationship. I see sparks flying just thinking about it! They share many qualities, but are different enough to contribute to one another in a most significant way. I think she's just what Heero needs – a strong and dominate woman to challenge him on the one hand, and identify with him on the other hand, as he struggled to cope with his past and his conscience. I think that this is why Dorothy makes an even better match than Relena, because she can sympathize more with what he's dealing with.
> 
> [ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/130931047@N06/25346184332/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> _"Sometimes, being a survivor is equivalent to having to fight a longer, harder battle – the one in your head, the one in your memories. The true victors are those who chose not to be defeated by the ghosts of their past."_  
>  ~ [cinderellaincombatboots](http://cinderellaincombatboots.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Well, those were my two cents on the matter. I would love to hear yours, if you're willing to share.
> 
> So that being said, here it is: 1xD – for your consideration. Please let me know what you think.
> 
> Elle.
> 
> * * *
> 
> **Betaed by:** the wonderfully supportive Disturbed-Girl
> 
>  **Warnings:** m/f and the rest is: 
> 
> [ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/130931047@N06/25346859522/in/dateposted-public/)

 

 

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/130931047@N06/25097062099/in/dateposted-public/)

 

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* * *

#  Remission by Elle Smith

* * *

 

**Remission**

Noun

  1. The act of remitting.
  2. Pardon; forgiveness, as of sins or offenses.
  3. Abatement or diminution, as of diligence, labor, intensity, etc.
  4. The relinquishment of payment, obligation, etc.
  5. A temporary or permanent decrease or subsidence of manifestations of a disease.



 

* * *

 

Hours bled into the night. Sad blue eyes stared numbly at the darkness, allowing the mind behind them to meld into the very fabric of the seemingly endless black. Medical monitors beeped persistently; their screens shedding depressing dim glows of blue and green over a narrow hospital bed. A lone figure lay there, dying. He was a young man in his mid-twenties, but his skeletal physique and bald white head made him appear much younger.

His features, usually a handsome façade owing to exotic traces of his Asian lineage, were pale, gaunt and disturbing for their lack of eyebrows. Covered by a thin white blanket, wires sneaking under the covers to embrace his brittle body, the lanky young man lay completely still, as though feigning death. Only a pair of moist Prussian blue eyes, gleaming in the darkness of the room, betrayed the life that was slowly stepping out of his diseased body. He stared into the darkness as if tempting the abyss to swallow him whole, beckoning death to embrace him before the crack of dawn.

He lay bound, and tired, waiting for daylight. Come morning, he will have entered the final stage of a long and tiring campaign against his own body. Doctors had convinced him, against his better judgement, to take this final risk or lose it all. He will be taken into the operating room first thing in the morning, where doctors will perform what they considered to be _groundbreaking surgery_ , attempting to remove what most believed was an inoperable brain tumor that has been consuming his mind for over a year now.

He thought that he had lost his fight long ago, tired of the ongoing struggle to fight for a life that simply wasn't worth the trouble. He was all but ready to give up, refusing anymore chemo and radiation treatments, and had prepared to face death on his own terms. He had wanted to go out as he had lived – standing stubbornly on his own two feet, come what may. The surgery they had come up with only offered him a 3% chance of survival. And, while he had beaten grimmer odds in the past, he didn't see the point in defying the odds this time around, especially when considering the amount of aggressive treatments they wanted to put him through prior to the surgery, in order to shrink the tumor as much as possible before they went in. He had refused, unwilling to spend his last living weeks feeling dead or wishing he was already dead.

 His doctors' attempts to convince him otherwise fell on deaf ears, until they had found a winning argument: there was a young girl at the hospital, merely twelve years old, who was facing the same tragic fate as he was currently facing. If they could try their experimental surgery on him first, if only to learn from their mistakes in case things went wrong, then she will have a better chance of survival – her odds increasing to a hopeful 10%. They needn't have said more, for he had already made up his mind to make this sacrifice. Finally, he had relented and reluctantly agreed to the developmental procedure.

Then began a grueling period of aggressive cancer treatments. He was certain that the intense therapy would kill him first, freeing him from this hell, but he was wrong. His body was weak, yet extremely stubborn. Life clung to him like a second disease, far more persistent than the cancerous tumor eating away at his brain. He was barely a human being anymore, his body unrecognizable even to himself, but he was still alive. He had made it this far, but for the life of him he could no longer remember why.

"For a _girl_ ," some woman answered complacently, apparently amused by his sudden lack of wits.

He opened his eyes, never having noticed that he had closed them in the first place, but his body did betray him with its most basic and automatic functions nowadays, so he wasn't surprised. He turned his head aside, slowly, to search for the speaker. There was no one there; just a dark empty room to mirror the cold dark emptiness in his life. He was alone; had always been alone. He had gone through months of agonizing treatments, writhing in pain while lying in a lonely hospital room. He had clutched the bed sheets in moments of despair when no one was around to even hold his hand. Sweat and tears had soaked the beddings as he had lain there, groaning and whimpering in agony, tormented by the unbearable sickness that came with the treatments. Alone and despaired, he had almost given up, but somehow prevailed.

There were nights, when fever seared inside of him and pain medication liquefied his mind, that he could feel a soft touch of a hand; the feeling of sticky bangs being pushed back from his eyes by cool dainty fingers, even though his hair was no more...

The gentle hand would reach out of the darkness to soothe his aching body and ease the desperation consuming his soul. When he would open his eyes, he could never see the phantom hand. He was alone in the dark; always alone, and always in the dark. The soothing touch of a ghostly hand was only a fever-induced illusion, a manifestation of his soul's thirst for comfort.

It was the delusions that had first alerted him of his illness. His symptoms began innocently enough, with an abrupt and considerable increase in his libido. And while he did enjoy suddenly having all these wild and passionate booty-calls in the broom-closet at the software development company where he had worked, the frequent and inappropriate sexual behavior became a clear warning sign once he had found that he could _not_ control it. Eventually, one too many sexual indiscretions at the office had gotten him fired, robbing him of the medical insurance plan he soon came to need. Unbeknownst to him at the time, his uninhibited sexual behavior was a symptom of the brain tumor, although it did take him a while longer to realize something was _that_ wrong.

At first, he had blamed it on the psychiatric medication he'd been on since the war ended (all part of his efforts to live a normal life and leave his horrendous past behind him), and asked his psychiatrist for a new prescription. When that didn't seem to work, and he had started having delusions on top of everything – imagining people who weren't there, couldn't _possibly_ be there, because they were _dead_ – his therapist suggested a full physical check-up, which eventually diagnosed the massive tumor in his head.

Then began the biggest battle of his life. Doctors gave him a year to live, and that was only because his body seemed to have undergone some major alterations in his youth – upgrades that had his doctors fascinated, for they obviously enabled him to survive when no one else would. They suspected that if the tumor would have been just a _tad_ less aggressive, he might have even been able to live his whole life with it burrowed deeply in his head. Unfortunately for him, the tumor was a monstrosity unlike any other, constantly growing and drilling deeper into his brain.

With no medical insurance and no time to wait for lawyers to settle the matter in court to prove that he had been fired because of his medical condition (hence still eligible for health insurance coverage), he had no financial resources to fund the expensive treatments. Nevertheless, he refused to go down without a fight, so he had signed up for an experimental medical procedure and fought the tumor with everything he had in him. But the struggle was a dire one, lasting months without any result. He got so sick and tired of it, failing to see the point behind his endless suffering.

Gradually, he got fine with dying, but then his damn doctors injected him with this _stupid_ hope that he might actually make it, and if not, that in the very least he would have made a difference in the life of a sick little girl. Wasn't that what people called _"karma"_? He had taken the innocent life of a little girl once; the least he could do was give his own life in return to save _this_ young girl.

The new treatments were hard, and he had endured them alone. He had thought about giving up many, many, times, but didn't. Karma. He had to balance the scale, even if it was just this _one_ small act of kindness to save just _one_ life.

He had found the strength to hold-on in his wishful delusions, in the gentle touch of an invisible hand. It brought him this far – to this night – nudging him towards the finish line, but he was afraid to take the final step to cross it. The important thing was that he would undergo the surgery; the outcome did not matter. They would learn from a surgery gone awry, just as they would learn from a successful one, thus ensuring the little girl's increased chances of survival.

And so, lying awake at what could very well be his last night on Earth, he stared numbly at the ceiling, trying to find a reason to make it through surgery tomorrow.

"Just do it, Heero," that same female voice from before spoke again; "If only as a final act of _defiance_."

This was no delusion, he suddenly realized. The voice was _real_ , and it was coming from right next to him.

Heero opened his weary eyes, blinking against the darkness. He turned to face the usually empty space by his bed, now suddenly occupied by a slim figure in a smart skirt-suit, sitting casually in a chair at his bedside. Her long white legs were crossed and a haughty sneer was plastered over her fair feminine features. She was a high-statured young woman with ethereal milky-white skin, long platinum-blonde hair and pale ice-blue eyes gleaming fiercely in the dark.

His mind was numb and fuzzy, but he thought she looked familiar. They'd met before, many years ago... during a war that had robbed them of their youth.

"Dorothy..?" He breathed her name out weakly, his cracking voice a mere whisper in the dark.

The young woman grinned leeringly and straightened in her seat, uncrossing her long legs as she leaned towards him. "You recognize me," she approved, pleased. "Must mean I made quite an impression."

"What are... what are you... doing here?" He mumbled weakly, frowning tiredly. She just kept on smiling cunningly for a moment, before leaning back into her chair and crossing her bare white legs again.

"Brain tumor, huh?" She spoke as casually as if speaking about the weather, "Never thought you'd go out this way, walking such a _pathetic_ path."

Offended, he somehow managed to find the strength necessary to twist his face into an offensive scowl.

"You should have died a _glorious_ death, Heero Yuy, but instead here you are, withering away... wallowing in defeat."

"I didn't choose to get sick," he told her bitingly, glaring at her from his lowered position on the bed. Dorothy was nothing if not the most dominant presence in every room she entered, and he felt so terribly small lying before her, unable to do much more than turn his head a little. He was weak, conquered by illness, and felt ashamed to be seen this way, even more so when scrutinized by this woman's merciless gaze.

"Do you know Milliardo had it too?" She informed him matter-of-factly, referring to the brain tumor; "He thought it had something to do with prolonged exposure to the ZERO System."

" _Had_ it?" Heero asked dully, more bothered by the use of _past tense_ than the assumption that his disease wasn't purely coincidental. At this point, it didn't really matter anymore.

"Yeah," Dorothy shrugged her slightly-broad shoulders, "It doesn't bother him anymore," she added with a wily smile and flipped a long lock of bleach-blonde hair back casually. "I told him he should drop by to say _'hi'_ , but you know him... sore loser."

Heero frowned.

"But you!" She suddenly chirped all too cheerfully. "I thought you didn't even know the _meaning_ of the word _'lose'_. I guess I stand corrected." She shook her head in over-dramatic disappointment. He had always known her to be the theatrical kind.

"You've given up," she then scolded him, her guileful smile replaced with scorn; "That's no good, Heero. Didn't you get _anything_ from what I told you all those years ago?"

She was talking about their rather intense conversation back when he was laying low in Relena's pacifism school in the Sanc Kingdom during the war – where he had first met Dorothy. Then a heedless teenage girl, she had challenged him to a fencing duel, which he had deliberately tried to lose in order to maintain his cover. But Dorothy knew who he was and refused to be allowed to win unfairly. He respected that. Dorothy ended their friendly fight by saying that he should not give up so easily and live his life as a legend, something he had failed to do – miserably.

"Are you here to _gloat_?" He hissed at her, glowering. He assumed that his fierce expression had lost its frightening intensity – the effect not quite as intimidating with hairless eyebrows – but he hoped that the anger he felt burning in his eyes still conveyed his dismay effectively, despite his gaunt and ashen features. His illness had taken a lot from him, but it had yet to succeed in extinguishing the fire he had been told burnt in his eyes. The fire had survived on willpower alone.

"Oh God, no!" Dorothy hurried to assure him, laughing lightly. "I came to say 'hello', or 'goodbye'... depending on how well this goes."

"I'm going to die tomorrow," he informed her dryly.

"Made up your mind, have you?" She quirked a thin blonde eyebrow at him.

"Just being realistic," he sighed.

"You mustn't lose before you've lived a strong, noble and _passionate_ life," Dorothy reminded him harshly. "Didn't I tell you to save dying for later?"

"Later is _now_ ," he murmured tiredly and closed his aching eyes, turning to face the ceiling. "I'm dying."

She snorted dismissively. "That can't be," she disputed; "How can you be _dying_ , Heero, when you haven't even _lived?_ "

Opening his eyes, Heero turned to glare at her resentfully. "I _have_ lived," he insisted; "I've been instrumental in...."

"Yes, I _know,_ " she interjected sharply; "Spare me the history lesson." She rolled her eyes, waving her hand in a trivializing motion. "So you've lived a very _useful_ life, sure," she agreed, shrugging nonchalantly. "There's no denying that you left your mark on the world and affected the lives of _billions_."

She was making it sound so trivial! Wasn't it enough?

"No," Dorothy maintained, as though reading his mind; "You might have brushed briefly by the lives of many, but you never touched _one_ heart, and you never let anyone touch yours. You just moved from one mission to the next, never leaving a permanent mark anywhere. That's why you're lying here, dying, with no one to even hold your hand as your body fails you."

His hand twitched against the mattress, aching to feel  
something he denied. He glowered at Dorothy defiantly.

"I don't need—"

"Yes, you _do_ ," she countered him arrogantly, leaning towards him to brush her long white fingers across his forehead. He jolted against the pillow, recoiling at her cold touch. Never having allowed it in the past, he was unaccustomed to intimacy.

"We all do," Dorothy whispered wistfully as she traced his face with feathery touches. Her eyes gleamed in the dark, flooded with regret, as she studied his bare bald head sadly.

"I'm sorry that you're only starting to realize this now," she apologized forlornly and reached for his limp hand, cupping it gently between both her palms. He tensed at her touch. His first instinctual reaction was to draw his hand away, but he didn't. He let the cool touch of her skin seep into his clammy palm. She moved one of her hands away, reaching for his face again, while her other hand continued to hold his. Heero closed his eyes, allowing her to caress his features with a frosty finger, running it slowly across where his eyebrows should have been if he hadn't lost all of his hair due to the radiation treatments.

"It looks like you weren't listening to me back then," she uttered longingly, moving her hand down idly to trace his hollow cheeks. She smiled sadly.

"Was I that good of a fencing rival that you couldn't focus on what I was trying to say?" She teased and Heero opened his eyes to see her fair white face hovering inches above his as she leaned over him, quirking a curious eyebrow.

"Didn't I tell you that a legendary hero doesn't lose on purpose?" She reminded him with a sly smile on her pale pink lips. She was so close that he could almost feel her breath brush against his nose, but didn't.

 "Still, here you are, defeated... giving up," she reproached; "You're losing on purpose, Heero. That's cheating."

"There's no cheating death," he mumbled, his lips nearly brushing against hers when they moved, for she was leaning in closely, studying his face carefully. The only other person he had ever allowed to get this close to him – within a hair's breadth away from a kiss – was Relena. That too was before he had headed out to what he had then considered to be his final battle, only back then Relena had begged him not to fight, while now Dorothy was urging him to do the opposite – to fight for his life and defy the odds. He had done just that when he had taken down Libra, but he wasn't so sure if he could do the same tomorrow morning. Too many variables were out of his control. This disease, this battle, could not be won by conventional means.

"This isn't an ordinary battle..." he whispered tiredly, trying to make her understand; "I've been fighting this for... too long," he sighed, closing his eyes despairingly; "I just want it to end. This sickness... I just want it to be over."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Dorothy let out gravely and moved away, settling back into her chair. She regarded him quietly, her solemn expression tinged with disappointment.

He waited for her to say something more, but she didn't. She just sat there with him in the dark, waiting. A part of him wanted to ask her to leave, to let him die in peace, but another part kept his lips pressed together tightly. He didn't want to die alone, and, while Dorothy wasn't his first choice, she was the only one to have bothered to come see him at his deathbed, and that meant something to him. He didn't concern himself with why or how, he was just grateful for this quiet company during his final hours.

Time went by slowly, nighttime ticking away with each strike of the large clock across from his bed. It was nearly dawn now, he could tell. Tearing his gaze away from where dim blue light tinted the dark skies outside his window, he turned his head the other way, his eyes falling on Dorothy, who was still seated by his bedside, watching him mutely. In the dark, washed by pale moonlight, her fair white skin seemed unnaturally radiant, and her blazing blue eyes glowed like a feline's eye-shine. They looked at each other tensely, never exchanging a word, until Dorothy's blank expression cracked into a cunning smile.

"Did you like her?" She asked, and Heero had no doubt as to whom she was referring.

"Define _like_ ," he muttered bleakly. Dorothy just kept staring at him with that knowing smile on her face. He heaved a sigh and turned to watch the ceiling again.

"I found her admirable, yes," he admitted, letting the words out reluctantly. "She's strong. Stronger than I ever was."

"Did you ever tell her that?"

"Yes."

"Really?" Dorothy seemed delighted and intrigued. She crossed her legs again, leaning on her knee with one elbow to study him more closely. " _And?_ "

"And what?" He snapped, turning his impatient glare towards her.

" _That's_ it?" She marveled.

"That's it," he confirmed and Dorothy scoffed, disappointed. She shook her head as she leaned back into her seat. "Obviously, you need to be taught a few lessons," she informed him boastfully and flipped her hair back nonchalantly before fixing her suggestive gaze on him. "You should come find me when you get out of here," she told him, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

He turned to her, frowning. "Why?"

She shrugged. "Because I can teach you, Heero. I can make sure that you'll live a _strong, noble_ and **_Passionate_** life," she emphasized the last adjective with a sultry grin. Was she seriously coming on to a dying man?

Heero snorted quietly and turned his head the other way to face the window again. He considered telling her to piss off, but once again stopped the words from leaving his mouth. He wasn't sure why. He only knew that her words had ignited such a strong _burn_ in his chest, so powerful and overwhelming that it surpassed pain and sickness and brought tears to his eyes.

He didn't want to die this way. He didn't want to die before he had lived. All he had ever done after the war was to go through the motions, doing what was expected of him in order to reintegrate. He got his credentials, got a steady job, an apartment and even raised a cat for a while, until the traitorous thing got away. He got up in the morning and performed his duties from A to Z until nightfall and then again.

Civilian life was just a long dreary mission he had taken upon himself to execute to perfection, moving from one mundane task to the next without an end in sight, until this tumor appeared like a bolt out of the blue. Just another mission, really: survive long enough to make it to the surgery and possibly save a little girl's life. Mission accepted. Tomorrow, it will be accomplished. Then, he could finally be laid to rest, after a quarter of a century spent living from one mission to the next.

Was this his life? Just one big _"mission"_? Was he going to die at twenty-five without ever venturing outside the well-defined parameters of his mission, without ever experiencing anything _more_? Did he even deserve _more_ , or was he only worthy of this cursed and meaningless existence? Would he die without ever finding the answers to these questions?

"It doesn't have to end this way," he heard Dorothy's soft yet firm voice speak behind him. He turned to face her again, unshed tears flooding his miserable blue eyes. She was smiling at him, ever so kindly; salvation offered to him in a smile.

"A remission, Heero Yuy," she whispered, rising to her feet. She approached his bed, leaning over him to dip her head in for a kiss. She stopped before they touched, gazing deeply into his eyes as she whispered against his lips:  "Will you accept?"

He looked at her, his tearful blue eyes wide with apprehension. His lower lip trembled, fighting back a broken _"no"_ , before he managed to whisper a faltering and desperate little _"yes"_.

Dorothy's smile grew, beaming down on him warmly as the light of day broke outside his hospital room window. Sunlight flooded the small room, swallowing everything in glowing white. The last thing he saw was Dorothy leaning further down to close the small distance between them, sealing his tear-salted lips with a gentle kiss.

He must have fallen asleep after that, because he didn't hear her leave the room. When the bright light dissipated and his vision cleared, he saw that his room was now washed by soft morning light and he was looking at the usual sight of an empty chair by his bed. The door then opened and one of his doctors stepped inside, accompanied by a nurse.

"Good morning, Mister Yuy," he greeted with a friendly smile; "Ready for the big day?"

*          *          *

They got a house together: a beautiful French cottage situated on top of a grassy hill overlooking a sparkling blue ocean. The sun was always shining, warm golden rays flooding every room. Everything was always bright and glowing. He couldn't recall an instance of darkness or even twilight since they got there. His days were always filled with sunshine. Dorothy was like his own personal sun. She had chased away the darkness from his life, filling him with light.

They christened the house by making passionate love in every single one of those sun-flooded rooms. Dorothy wasn't joking when she promised him a strong and passionate life. She made good on her words by answering his every carnal desire. The woman was insatiable, and he too couldn't get enough of her exquisite allure. When they fucked, they always fucked vigorously. He would grip fistfuls of her long blonde hair, twisting it around his arm as he thrusted into her vehemently. She was very vocal and he loved forcing those animalistic sounds out of her. He never felt so alive as he did when he buried himself deep inside her heated body. Dorothy was pure freedom, pure sunlight.

Their sex was hot and often kinky. Dorothy was a strong and dominant woman, often demanding things from him he never thought he would oblige, such as all kinds of BDSM practices that pushed him to his limits, forcing him into a delicious internal struggle between the part of him that wanted to resist and attack, and the part that wanted to be tamed and controlled. She called him a _wild stallion_ she must tame, often teasing him by reminding him that she came from a noble family where such customs were quite common, and that she had plenty of experience taming wild stallions such as himself. He never knew if she meant other _men_ or actual _horses_ , assuming she meant both. He loved what she could turn him into if she so pleased. She had liberated him from every single inhibition.

They didn't make it into a lifestyle, but Dorothy did enjoy playing the role of a dominatrix, and most of the time, he enjoyed letting her. One time, just after he had stepped out of a hot shower, she threw him against the cold porcelain wall, taking him by complete surprise – in the most literal sense of the word. She had fucked him with a strap-on dildo and he was so turned-on that he didn't even think about fighting it. He just let her push him roughly against the wall, gripped the towel-hanger tightly, bracing himself as she entered him without permission. He had swallowed his pain and obliged her every order, even when asked to call her _"sir"_ instead of the usual _"mistress"._ He had whimpered the title over and over as she fucked him against the bathroom wall. He never came so hard as he did that day.

That was the kind of woman Dorothy was – a mistress ruling over his body and mind, and he was a slave to her lust, play and affection. She had freed him of shame, uncertainty and denial. He was no longer afraid to feel freely, addicted to the never-ending gust his mistress would provide. She made him appreciate his still-living and breathing body; made him long for the rush of warm blood pumping wildly through his veins. Dorothy made him glad to be alive.

Warm sunlight and blazing hot sex became the cure to all of his aliments. Her strenuous demands out of his body, the amount of sweat he had poured for her and the sheer will to keep her satisfied at all times, drove him towards a hasty recovery. His once pale and sickly skin-tone, the frailness and the fatigue he had felt for so long, were all but a distant memory, replaced by a healthy tan and muscles he had nearly forgotten he possessed. She brought him back to life, making him into a man again.

They had a garden too; a beautiful rose garden Dorothy nurtured while he lay on a sun-lounger under a lush oak tree, sipping cool lemonade as he watched her tend to her flowers. He appreciated how the sun would wash over her porcelain white skin and long silky blonde hair. Outside, she truly seemed to shine, glowing like an angel. Out in the sun, she always wore a wide straw hat to protect her delicate skin from the ever-present daylight. He enjoyed the sight of the warm breeze tousling her long golden strands of hair, while fluttering through her billowing sundress. Her long white legs were clad in a pair of stylish sandals and her graceful white hands were soiled with dirt as she tended her garden. Aching to touch her, Heero placed his lemonade down on the grass and got up swiftly.

She let out a melodious rolling laughter, surprised when he tackled her to the ground and he took her right there on the grass. He loved the sensation of the warm sun against his naked skin, the fresh scent of wet grass and moist earth beneath him, the sweat dripping down his muscular backside as he basked in the warmth of their sweltering flesh blistering in the sun. Sunlight seemed to flood everything as he moved against her, riding towards an explosive orgasm. She knew when to let him take charge, when to empower him with her wild feminine cries of ecstasy. She could wring the most primal vocals out of him whenever she pleased, and it gave him great pleasure to know that he could do the same, causing his stamina to know no bounds.

Finally, he collapsed against the soft green grass, rolling to lie next to her. They remained lying side by side, their naked thighs touching as they rested on a soft bed of grass. They held hands, fingers entwined over the lawn, watching small white clouds drift across an endless blue sky above. If there ever was such a thing as Heaven on Earth, Heero mused while staring idly at the sky, this was it.

Dorothy laughed. Like always, she seemed able to read his mind.

"So I gather that you no longer feel like dying tomorrow?" She turned to ask him, smirking impishly. Heero continued to stare quietly at the sky.

"No," he finally answered and turned his head aside to face her; "I don't."

Dorothy was smiling at him strangely. "So I guess it's finally time for you to leave," she said chirpily.

"Leave?" He wondered dazedly, feeling confused, as one often felt when realizing one was waking up from a dream.

Dorothy's smile fell a little, burdened by sadness.

 "It's been fun, Heero, really," she said, smiling apologetically; "but you have to go. This is going to sound a bit mean, but... I have another commitment."

"To whom?" He asked, jealous and alarmed, and pushed himself up on one elbow. Dorothy did the same.

"Someone who's going to stick around longer than you, I'm afraid," she answered cryptically.

"Longer than _me_?" He echoed dumbly, unable to comprehend. Did he displease her in some way?

 "Far from it!" She chuckled, shaking her head. "I never expected you to be so... _open minded_. It's always the quiet ones," she teased, and all Heero could suddenly think of was the deep feeling of shame and remorse he had felt after realizing that his sexual indiscretions at the office were a result of a brain tumor toying with his mind, methodically collapsing every wall and seal he had put around his deepest, darkest, desires. Was this what it was all about – the floodgates being let wide open? Was this a result of his tumor being removed?

"I didn't mind," Dorothy told him, shrugging carelessly. "But all good things must come to an end," she added with a regretful sigh and turned to look at the small gravel path leading up to their little hilltop cottage. Heero turned to look at it as well. Someone was approaching; a lone figure climbing up the sunny hillside. He frowned, trying to recall if he had encountered another soul since he got here, but he couldn't even recall how long he had been here. It felt like forever – in a good sense – but how _did_ he get here? And _when_? He didn't know.

"It's okay, Heero," Dorothy soothed, reaching her cool white hand to touch his cheek gently. He turned to her, scowling thoughtfully. How come her hand was always cold, even though it was always sunny and warm? And why hadn't he realized it before now?

"Don't think too much into it," she told him, smiling sadly. "Just promise me that you'll come find me afterwards. It'll help me make good on my promise."

"Promise?" He asked shakily, struggling to understand all of this.

Dorothy slapped him playfully. "I told you, silly!" She rebuked with a laugh; "I will make sure you live a _strong_ and **_passionate_** life."

He had thought that this was exactly what they had been doing this whole time, but now... he wasn't so sure anymore. Was he even _alive_?

"Of course you are," she assured him, her blue eyes sparkling with an unfeasible light. "You held on. Be thankful for it."

He was thankful for her, because she was the reason why he had held on; she was the only one to have given him reason to do so. What will he do once they have parted ways?

"Where will I find you?" He asked, worried that he would lose her forever once he is torn away from this heavenly illusion.

"Right here," she told him simply, gesturing at the green hills around them and the bright blue ocean below.  "Right where the three of us last met."

Heero turned to gaze at the sunny landscape, and for the first time recognized it as the same view seen from Relena's school back in the Sanc Kingdom. Overwhelmed, he turned his confused gaze towards the gate leading into the yard – at the lone figure that was still walking towards the house. He thought he recognized its shiny head of short bright blond hair.

"Like it or not, Heero, we're all connected." He heard Dorothy tell him, but he couldn't tear his eyes away to face her again. The figure was approaching, and the closer it got to the house, the more frightened and devastated he felt.

 "Connected how?" He asked shakily, distress shining in his Prussian blue eyes.

"Through ZERO," she said; "We all used it, all four of us."

She was talking about herself, Zechs, Quatre and him, Heero deduced. They were the only ones to use the ZERO System for more than a fleeting moment. They were all infected by it, cursed with its long-lasting effects on their psyches and minds. That was Quatre walking up the hill, which meant that...

Tears stung his eyes. His heart ached, grieving. Another battle had been lost. Must he always be the sole survivor?

"Don't worry," Dorothy whispered softly as she leaned towards him, her lips brushing against his ear. "I'll take good care of him," she promised, and when he turned to look at her skeptically, she added a naughty: "I'll be _gentle!_ " accompanied by her wicked grin. "I'm well aware that not everyone is as... _tolerant_ , as you are. Besides," she added playfully, "I have a feeling the guy doesn't mind a bit of _backdoor_ action." She snickered, but Heero wasn't amused.

"I don't want to leave," he whispered mournfully, moaning the words out as miserably as a child.

"You can't stay here, Heero," she whispered lovingly in his ear and raised her hand up to cup his chin gently. She turned him to face her, smiling softly when their eyes met.

"It's not time yet," she told him; "You can't die, remember? You haven't lived yet." She smirked, leaning towards a farewell kiss. "You have to live in order to die, Heero," she reminded him and kissed his lips gently, running her fingers through his wild brown hair. He kissed back desperately, refusing to part with her, but she pulled his head back by his hair and moved to whisper her final words in his ear:

"Remission accomplished, Heero Yuy. Wake up."

And he did. After three days of unexplained post- surgical coma that had his doctors baffled, Heero Yuy finally opened his eyes to face an empty room.

*          *          *

A few weeks later, on a golden afternoon, Heero stood in front of a heavy wrought-iron gate holding a bouquet of white lilies. He was dressed plainly in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt that hung sloppily from his brittle frame, complete with a dark-blue baseball cap over his head, to hide his baldness and hideous scarring. His skinny arms strained to hold the heavy bouquet as he stood at the gate, hesitant to enter.

Behind him, a winding gravel road extended down a grassy hillside, leading to the pristine coastline below. A twinkling blue ocean stretched as far as the eye could see, engulfed by endless rolling hills of swishing green grass.

Looking up at the tall iron-gate in front of him, Heero took a deep breath, inhaling the salty ocean breeze, and closed his eyes. His fists clenched tightly around the white lilies, as though trying to gain the strength he needed.

There were only three memorable moments in his life involving flowers: One, was over a decade ago, when a little girl had given him a single yellow flower and soon after turned into his inadvertent victim. The second, was during the war, when he brought flowers to General Noventa's grave in Marseilles after accidently killing the man. The third, was two weeks ago, when a young girl had rolled her wheelchair into his hospital room, carrying a colorful bouquet of flowers in her small hospital-gown-covered lap. Her name was Gabriel, and he was the one who had indirectly saved her life; a penance for the former two. Little Gabby came to offer him her gratitude. Now, it was his turn to offer his.

He wasn't the type to bring a girl flowers, as he was certain Dorothy already knew, but he felt that the situation warranted such a gesture, and white lilies seemed like the proper choice. He almost smiled, picturing her reaction. She would have laughed at his assumptions, dismissing his silly attempt to oblige such boring social etiquettes with that melodious laughter of hers. And with her bell-like mirth chiming in his ears, he reached to push the heavy gate open, and finally stepped into a beautiful green cemetery.

Bright white sunshine washed over endless rows of gray tombstones. Carrying the white flowers, Heero walked down the narrow grid of gravel pathways cutting through the numerous plots. Finally, he reached a tombstone resting close to a large oak tree overlooking the blue ocean below, just like the one they had in their garden once upon a dream, where he would sit and watch Dorothy tend her roses.

For a moment, he just stood there, gazing wretchedly at her grave. Then, heaving a woeful sigh, he knelt down on one knee and placed the lilies by her tombstone. He remained crouched before Dorothy's final resting place, and studied the engraved epitaph solemnly:

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/130931047@N06/24834068854/in/dateposted-public/)

He smiled sadly, sharing a private joke with the dead. Still kneeling by her grave, he placed his pale hand over the tombstone, just holding it for a moment. He closed his eyes, relishing in the feeling of a warm breeze caressing his face, and inhaled deeply. He thought he could smell the sweet scent of moist earth and roses, and smiled a little.

Then, he registered the sound of footsteps grinding over the gravel path behind him. Someone was approaching slowly. From the sound of them, the light footfalls belonged to a woman. Soon, she was standing right behind him. Heero remained crouched in front of Dorothy's grave, his hand still resting over the cool gray marble.

"Hello," the woman greeted quietly. Heero opened his eyes, but didn't turn around to face her.

 "Were you also a friend of Dorothy's?"

She sounded young, he surmised. Her voice was soft; quiet and sad.

"An enemy... once," he replied without tearing his eyes off the headstone. "But we ended up fighting against the same thing," he added with a grave sigh and finally pulled his hand away from the tombstone. He stood up slowly, his back still turned to the woman standing behind him, and reached to take off his baseball cap, exposing his baldness and surgical scars. Bright sunlight shone over his bald white head, where small patches of short dark-brown stubble had started to grow here and there. Holding his hat against his lap, he bowed his head down to pay his respects.

He had to give her credit, for the young woman didn't even gasp in surprise when she saw the brutal evidence of his illness. Realizing that he was also a cancer victim, she remained silent for a while, her quiet presence behind him becoming a small comfort.

"I lost my brother to this cursed disease three years ago," she finally told him, her voice pained. "Brain tumor," she sighed. "Then Dorothy, a year later..."

He nodded in acknowledgement and put his hat back on, securing it over his head as he spun around slowly to face her. He wasn't the least bit surprised to see that the woman standing with him by Dorothy's grave, was no other than Relena Darlian. However, the twenty-five year-old blonde woman, dressed in a white sundress and carrying a bouquet of red roses, seemed surprised to realize it was him. Her lips parted slightly in shock as she studied him with awed blue eyes.

 "Heero," she breathed his name out painfully.

"Relena," he acknowledged quietly and reached a self-conscious hand to adjust his baseball cap, tilting the brim forward to hide his disturbing lack of eyebrows in fear that she might find his skeletal and ghastly appearance upsetting. His severe loss of weight and muscle-tone made him feel weak, less of a man, so he could only imagine what she must think of him after knowing him only as an unstoppable and powerful soldier. There was no denying the pained look in her greenish-blue eyes as she studied him coyly.

"H-how... how are you doing?" She finally stuttered, flustered, and then winced at her own stupid question, probably realizing how tactless it must sound. Heero had to stifle a small smile. People tended to act this way around the terminally ill, which usually annoyed him, but coming from her he found it somewhat endearing; it showed that she cared.

"Hanging in there," he muttered simply, shrugging.

"Are you..." she couldn't even say it, so he stopped her, cutting-in in mid-sentence:

"I'm on a—" he started to say, but then quickly stopped to correct himself with a sarcastic little smile. "I'm in remission," he said, rephrasing.

She nodded slowly, still uneasy. "That's... that's good," she said, struggling to smile. "How long have you been..?"

"It's been... a long struggle," he replied slowly, sighing.

"Milliardo too," Relena whispered, tears flooding her turquoise-blue eyes. "He used to think that—"

"ZERO," Heero interrupted, nodding his head. "Yes, I know."

Relena nodded rapidly, as if expecting him to be this well-informed. She bowed her head down, staring miserably at the grass. "It also killed Dorothy," she let out unsteadily, tears rocking her voice. "She only used it for a short time, but... it got her too."

"I know," he corroborated solemnly. "Same with Quatre. He passed a few weeks ago. I'm the only one left."

She raised her head up slightly, looking at him through a veil of long sandy-blonde hair tousled by the warm wind; her eyes glimmered with unshed tears.

"I'm glad you're getting better," she whispered, smiling despite her tears, and pushed her hair out of her eyes.

Heero nodded his thanks, bowing his head down coyly. "Not completely out of the woods yet, but... still here," he mumbled, staring at the ground.

Relena nodded in acknowledgment. She stepped towards the grave and he moved aside respectfully, making her some room. He watched her kneel in front of the tombstone and place her red roses next to his white lilies.

"From her garden..." Relena mumbled, caressing the perfect red petals longingly. "She loved roses..."

"I know," he whispered, and Relena turned her head to look up at him, curious. He didn't care to explain though.

"What brings you here?" She asked carefully, standing back up.

Heero turned to look over his shoulder, at the sunny blue ocean below. "A dream..." he mumbled dazedly. He observed the beautiful Sanc coastline for a while, then smiled wistfully, recalling the vividness of that dream: an entire relationship of passion and heat, all experienced in a fleeting few days.

"You?" He turned to Relena and asked.

She seemed hesitant to say, shifting her weight from side to side. She kept her head bowed down slightly, raising her eyes sheepishly to look at him through locks of blonde hair. "Would you believe it if I told you the same?" She asked bashfully.

"I would, actually," he told her with utmost seriousness, and she smiled, relieved.

"She's quite the manipulator, isn't she?" Relena laughed. "Even _death_ can't stop her from always getting her way."

"Looks like it, yes," he agreed quietly, shoving two hands into his jeans' pockets, feeling a bit off his game. He didn't think he'd ever have such a casual conversation with Relena before, not to mention ever seeing her dressed so informally. In their short time together, he didn't think he had ever seen her out of her formal attire. The plain white dress she was currently wearing was a far cry from the school uniform or a royal Sanc outfits he had always seen her wear. The silky white fabric hugged her delicate feminine curves while fluttering enticingly in the wind. He was suddenly seeing her in a whole new light, and the whole situation was making him feel ill at ease.

"What did she tell you?" Relena enquired with interest, and he chose to reply simply:

"To live," he said, turning to look at her. "You?"

She smiled ruefully. "To love."

Heero let out a short sarcastic scoff. "We were being set up."

"Looks like it," she agreed, entertained. "I have the right mind to walk away just to spite that sneaky little matchmaker."

"And risk her haunting you for the rest of your life?" He joked, raising a nonexistent eyebrow, and Relena laughed, more amused by his endearing attempt at humor than by the actual joke. She liked him this way, casual and funny. It humanized him, helped her see beyond the unsettling ill-abused body and stone-hard blue eyes.

Heero smiled back a little, his hands still deep in his pockets, and cast his gaze down to stare at the ground to conceal his smile. They stood quietly for an awkward moment, before Heero spoke up again:

"Why love?" He asked, fixing his intense blue eyes on her. Unfazed, Relena took a moment to consider her reply, before shrugging helplessly.

"Because I haven't," she answered honestly. "I... There were always more important things... getting in the way," she confessed awkwardly, casting her gaze down to the ground for a moment. She chuckled; a small, tragic sound bursting from her lips. "Dorothy always said I would die an old maid... but she beat me to it," she concluded with a miserable sigh.

Having nothing to say, Heero just stood there, watching her.

"Why live?" She then asked in return, raising her head to pin him with her own intense blue gaze.

He shrugged, as she had done when answering. "Because I haven't," he replied in a similar manner. "Nothing was ever important enough. I wouldn't let it."

She nodded in understanding. "We're one of the same, it would seem." She offered him a miserable little smile. "But Dorothy..." she then added, turning to face her friend's grave again; "she was the complete opposite of me. And for some reason, we got along just fine." She smiled sadly at the grave, tears shining in her eyes. "She was a good friend."

"You're more alike than you think," Heero told her, taking a step closer and looking her fiercely in the eye. "You're both strong, noble, women."

Her tearful blue eyes shone thankfully. "She would have loved hearing you say that."

"Probably," he agreed in his usual deadpan manner, but there was a touch of sly humor hidden there, somewhere. They shared a small knowing smile, before turning to look at her grave again.

"So, uhm... how long are you planning to be in Sanc?" Relena asked after a while.

Heero shrugged his shoulders dismissively and shoved his hands into his pockets again. "Didn't think that far ahead," he admitted. "I just got out of a hospital in New York."

"And came straight here?" She frowned, baffled.

He nodded, having nothing more to say, unable to explain his rush. It was just that he had nowhere else to be, no one more important to see, or so he had thought. Dorothy was quite the sneaky little vixen.

"Well, do you have anywhere to stay?" Relena asked with concern.

"Working on it," he replied briskly, a bit on the defensive side. "Why?" He added snappily, scowling.

"Why do you think?" She smirked and he glared at her cagily. Prolonged hospitalization and innovative cancer treatments had depleted his financial resources, leaving him broke. He appreciated her kindness, but it wasn't considered very _manly_ to be so short on cash, and he didn't want her to think that he couldn't make his own arrangements for proper accommodations. Certainly, it would be a bit of a challenge, but nothing he hadn't handled before.

"Thank you, but—"

"No arguments, Heero," she quickly cut him off short.  "I insist."

He pictured Dorothy smirking proudly at her fellow _"dominatrix"_ , and – bearing in mind the lessons she had taught him in a dream – who was he to say _"no"_?

He had given it much thought over the past few weeks while lying in a hospital bed, recovering from the surgery that had saved his life. He figured that, while his strange coma dream had overflowed with manifestations of his own selfish and wishful thinking, it couldn't have been a mere dream. Yes, he had indulged in his deepest desires, but his guide – the person to take him through his licentious journey – wasn't someone he had dreamed up. She had to be real; he was certain of it. Dorothy was more than a figure in a dream, and she had freed him from his crippling inhibitions. She had taught him the benefits of surrender with complete abandon, beginning in her bed, and then some. It was a lesson he was grateful to have learned.

"Alright," he therefore agreed, catching Relena by surprise. Her slightly stunned expression quickly turned into a relieved smile.

"I just need to get my bag from the airport," he told her. His medications were in that bag, which he had no choice but to leave behind. It was hard for him to walk even short distances, let alone while carrying his meager belongings with him. He had left his duffle in a secured airport locker and took a cab to the cemetery, but he needed it back. Although tumor-free, Heero was still coping with the effects of treatment on his body. He was cured of cancer – for now – but survival only meant that he was disease-free, not free of his disease. Intense chemo and radiation treatments had left him with an array of medical problems, such as neuropathy (damage to the nervous system), on top of constant fatigue and a damaged heart.

"I'll send someone to get it for you," Relena offered, smiling graciously. "You look like you need some rest. Come on," she said, "my car is right by the gate."

He nodded gratefully and followed her out of the cemetery. He had a feeling that, if he'd let her, she'd see to his every need. And, thanks to Dorothy, he didn't feel guilty about aching to accept her kindness, nor did he feel any shame for needing it. He wanted someone to take care of him, someone to help him grow stronger so he could fulfill his promise to Dorothy. She made certain to give him the opportunity he needed, and it was up to him to keep up his end of the bargain and make sure that he lived a strong, noble and passionate life.

Walking by Relena's side, Heero decided that he wasn't going to waste any more time. Life was short, and he didn't know how much of it he had left. The tumor could return at any time, and he wanted to be ready for his next encounter with Dorothy. He wanted to be able to look her in the eye and tell her that he had fulfilled her wish, just like she had fulfilled her promise.

Determined, he reached for Relena's hand as they walked. She tensed, surprised, her steady pace faltering. She stopped and turned to look at him, her blue eyes wide with wonder. He continued holding her hand, looking at her tensely.

She glanced down at where his pale-white fingers were wrapped limply around her hand. Then, just when he thought she was about to pull away as he would have normally done in this situation, she turned her hand inside his grip and entwined her tanned fingers through his.

Her grip was warm like sunshine. She squeezed his frail white hand tightly, looking up to meet his eyes. She smiled, her blue eyes shining warmly. A cautious little smile tugged his own lips upwards. He squeezed back.

 They left the cemetery together, walking hand in hand through a grassy field washed with sunshine.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/130931047@N06/25371738491/in/dateposted-public/)

**The End.**

**Author's Note:**

> So a guy slips into a three-day long coma and dreams about kinky hot sex with a bleach-blonde chick – what else? (Maybe I should have used _that_ as a synopsis!)
> 
> That being said, I will seriously pay good money to anyone willing to write a non-AU Dx1 BDSM story where Dorothy is a femdom and Heero her willing and gratified slave. I mean, I can't be the only one seeing this, can I? Just think about it:
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/130931047@N06/25371738341/in/dateposted-public/)  
> 
> 
> I know, right? XD And for the life of me, I cannot write smut (suck at it – bad), so if anyone is willing to take up the glove and fulfill this little wish of mine, I will be forever in their debt.
> 
> Elle.
> 
> [ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/130931047@N06/25464630625/in/dateposted-public/)


End file.
